When The Light Went Out
by Me Or The Wallpaper
Summary: If I died... what would you do? Written for the prompt "I want to see the reactions of the people James T. Kirk leaves behind." Mild K/S. More like TOS, in that way.


Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to a huge, confusing mass of people. Mostly, however, it belongs to Roddenberry. There's a bit of JJ thrown in this particular part of Star Trek as well.

Warnings: Character death. As well as such a small, itsy bitsy amount of K/S that in TOS it would be considered only 'mild' on the subtext meter.

Explanation: This was written for the prompt "Write the reaction of the people James T. Kirk leaves behind." I did my best.

1)

Vulcans are in control of their emotions. They are in control of their emotions. They do not mourn. They do not love. When they loose, it is only in the circle of life and death. All things must 'loose.'

When the explosion had finished, no oxygen to feed fire in the vacuum of space, there was nothing but a stretch of darkness. Parts of the destroyed spacecrafts drifted, each piece black from that instant of flame.

Not even stars could be seen. No distant worlds or galaxies. Nothing but emptiness and the scattered remnants of destruction drifted across the view screen. There wasn't a sound except for a single brief sob from someone he didn't bother to identify.

There was nothing, now. All the noise was gone. The explosion of ravaging, short-lived fire was sucked away in an instant. All the light was gone.

2)

A croak. A single croak seemed to break into the silence like an oath in a church, the sob somehow wrong, as though bravery had somehow failed her. As though it had been a sin to interrupt the moment.

Later, she would attend the funeral. She would sit beside Spock, as he sat, face blank, expressionless, so very _Vulcan_, nails digging so deeply into his own knees the knuckles whited out.

Later, she would find Dr. Mcoy, after the funeral, drunk in his office, and she would lift his face. She would wipe the vomit off his chin with the sleeve of her own nice dress, and not really care at all. She would hear him say "The son of a bitch. That son of a bitch." Even as the tears streamed down the unshaven rubbed raw face.

Later, she would wonder why the only time she had been able to cry at all was on the Bridge, even as the last of Jim Kirk was burned away in an instant, that brief little croak of a sob.

3)

There was no one that told him. They could have at least have someone tell _him personally_, god damn it. Anyone. It didn't matter. Someone who had seen it, at the very least. He was a doctor. He knew this shit. He knew you never told someone who gave even half a damn something like this over the intercom.

He shouldn't have found out just like everyone else. He was someone. He was Bones. Bones, and god damn it god damn it Jim no one was ever going to call him that again, were they?

This was the thought that crossed his mind as he collapsed for a moment, gripping the edge of a bed, Nurse Chapel's hand flying up, flitting over the space above his arm with the hesitancy and desperation of a terrified bird. He shut his eyes and saw red, red from the bright lights of med bay shining through the lids of his eyes.

_"I've always known I'd go alone, Bones."_

_"Fuck, Jim, stop laughing, that's not some kind of joke."_

And then he opened his eyes. Because he was scared shitless of the feeling of unraveling that was settling in his stomach, the desperate not-pain that was only beginning to make him feel as if someone had dug their hand through his chest and pulled some very important internal organ away.

Because people were still in the world, people who were not Jim, people who stood a chance of being saved, if he could save them.

He didn't let himself think of it, didn't let himself grieve until the funeral without a body, which he didn't attend. And then he tried to drown himself, drown out all thoughts, drown himself in liquid that burned just as much as the fire that had pulled Jim out of the world.

4)

Chekov thought, if only he could have realized, if only he could have seen what exactly the Captain was planning on doing before he did it, he might have been able to help save him.

Perhaps, right before the moment of impact, he might have been able to get the Captain's signal. He might be able to have locked on to it and pulled him out of that ship. He might have.

5)

Sulu hated that he had been impressed.

Someone he knew had _died_, and all he had been able to do in the moment he _saw_ it happen was mark it down as another way Jim Kirk was like the hero of some story. He leapt from the sky to save people he'd only just met. He saved Earth. He was ridiculously clever, he was ridiculously stupid. He was the bravest man Sulu knew.

And, in the end, he died the way his father did. He died in an explosion of light, of life and death as it seemed for an instant as if they were flying into the sun, the ship itself simply a shadow, a small, burning sunspot.

He died to save them all. He never lost, he always won, even in the end. All Sulu could think was that he imagined Jim letting out a howling scream, a battle cry as his own ship and the one before him crumbled, as the engines exploded and fire engulfed them all. All he could see was that almost livid grin, flooded with life, rushing towards death and knowing, _knowing_ that even at such a high cost he had won.

6)

Sam came home for half a year, afterwards. He would have buried himself in work, but…

7)

She could be laughing, and then she'd say it, as though reminding herself that happiness was inappropriate. Was something disgusting and fake when the world was so clearly horrible.

"Jimmy's dead."

As if suddenly lost, her eyes would wander. The smile would slip away twitchingly, desperately. Sometimes, a single pale hand would lift, veins mapping the expanse of skin, wrist a thin, breakable thing before her face. Sam could never figure out what she reached towards. If she saw anything. Perhaps both Jim and his father were there, riding towards them both on a collision course. Or perhaps it was nothing, and she needed something to hold on to.

He could give her that. So he would reach forwards and take her hand in his, and feel so very strange that they were only half now, that in his entire family it was only him and her.

8)

The captain's chair was empty. No one would sit in it, at first.

Everyone was aloud to attend the just-for-show funeral. Everyone did. The halls were empty.

Everything was pristine and perfect and untouched onboard the enterprise. There was no sound to echo through the halls. Not a soul resided on it at all.

Finale:

"Hey,"

"Yes?"

"What would you do… if I died?"

"…"

"Really. What would you do?"

"Why would you ask such a question?"

"Well, it's going to happen some day. And I won't be there to see what happens after, so you might as well tell me."

1) "… I would go by Starfleet regulation. I would first ascertain that you were most definitely dead. If there was a chance you were still alive, I would bring you to Dr. Mcoy or, if the situation was indeed dire, I would in all likelihood attempt… to assist you using certain ancient techniques I learned of on Vulcan."

2) "Probably kick your corpse."

3) " Fuck, Jim, stop laughing, that's not some kind of joke."

4) "I… I wouldn't know what to do, Keptan. I would… listen to Commander Spock?"

5) "Heh, probably fight off any guys you might not have managed to kill in the process."

6) "You're not going to. Not before me, anyway. I'll have to kill you, otherwise."

7) "Honey, don't talk about that. Besides, it'll happen long after I'm gone."

8)

~The End~

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Regardless of whether or not you did, I would love to hear your opinion! Thanks for reading, anyway. (psst... hit the review button)


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